


wildfire

by reneewvlkers



Series: homeostasis [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, al writes pretentious shit, gratuitous use of fire imagery, it's barely different from canon but that's intentional, this is what i call a short fic, what is narrative style?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reneewvlkers/pseuds/reneewvlkers
Summary: Magic is the only truth the universe knows. The world is rewritten by words spoken in the right way; the strings of fate twisted by words said with the right brand of intention.Andrew becomes undone at the age of seven.(Where Andrew is cursed, but in no universe does Neil care that he shouldn't want this.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> _al, don't you already have a magic au?_    
> yeah, but it's not THIS magic au. (all i have in my head is magic aus and music. i'm so sorry.)
> 
> this is totally unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are mine. i wrote it all in one day. send help.

Magic is the only truth the universe knows. The world is rewritten by words spoken in the right way; the strings of fate twisted by words said with the right brand of intention.

Andrew becomes undone at the age of seven.

Andrew doesn’t know what he did, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He earned Robert’s ire and that’s not a surprise but it’s okay. This new foster mother is much nicer than anyone in the previous home had been - they’d been tired, surrounded by too many screaming children - and she gives Andrew enough to eat and doesn’t hug him even though she looks like she wants to. Robert’s glares pale in significance to that. He can put up with that.

But everyone knows that affection is finite. Andrew’s appearance and his new mother’s smiles means that there is less affection for Robert. Every pat on the shoulder is one taken from Robert. Every time she believes Andrew, even a little bit, she believes Robert a little less.

Which is the problem, Andrew knows. When his foster mother sighs and asks who dropped a glass this time - _I’m not mad, I just want to know_ \- and Andrew easily tells her it was Robert, it changes the world. Not immediately, but it does.

Another child, even one older and taller than he is, trying to threaten him has the same effect it always has: nothing. Andrew looks back at Robert in silence, unwilling to let an overgrown weed ruin this new home for him.

“It’s a pity no one will believe you anymore,” Robert says finally. There’s a sense of gravitas to the statement that Andrew doesn’t understand at the time, and he pulls his eyebrows together a fraction in confusion. It’s a strange thing to say with such certainty.

It’s not that Andrew didn’t know about magic. Everyone knows about magic, and besides, he’d managed to do small tricks himself. It’s just that he hadn’t known Robert could do it, and curses (and blessings, for that matter) are hard magic - they have to follow someone for their whole life. They’re not small, immediate things; they change a rule of the universe forever.

Andrew didn’t even entertain the idea that he’d been cursed until the next day. Robert catches Andrew’s eye when they’re alone in a room and drops his glass. A small splash of orange juice hits Andrew’s ankle, and their mother comes into the room at the sound of smashing glass.

“Again?” She says, still not looking annoyed. “Step back, Rob, you don’t want glass in your foot - who dropped it?”

She always asked, even when it was obvious. The glass shards are at Robert’s feet and Andrew is across the room, but she still asks - _I’ve got to raise you two to be accountable for your actions!_

Andrew says, as easily as ever, “It was Robert.”

His mother frowns, but her eyes clear as though something is now obvious. “There’s no need to lie,” she replies sternly.

Andrew looks between her pinched expression and Robert’s smug smile with confusion. The scene should be obvious, but it’s as though opening his mouth had changed that somehow.

And it keeps happening, as though the universe is singing in a different key. This mother had believed him and had seen him as nothing more than another child, but he very rapidly became a _troubled child_. Eventually she had to sigh and concede defeat. “He just won’t tell the truth, no matter what we do,” she tells a care worker when she thinks he can’t hear. “And he doesn’t get along with Robert. It’s not fair on him.”

“I understand,” the man replies. Andrew is pretty sure he doesn’t.

“We’d have liked for him to stay here but I just think he’ll be better off somewhere else,” she says, trying to convince herself.

“Of course,” the man says calmly, because it’s his job, not his life, and this must be commonplace to him. Andrew isn’t sure if it would be better or worse for the process to have been more difficult, but either way, he leaves the house after only a few short months.

The process repeats at his other foster homes until he is labelled as a _problem_ _child_. The foster parents become less sweet and understanding, and instead look determined, if a little wary, when they first meet him.

And no one believes him, so Andrew stops talking. Even when he tries to tell lies - if no one will believe him, then surely speaking in opposites would work? - he is disregarded. He is, apparently, inherently dishonest. At least if he says nothing, no one can think he’s lying.

When he speaks, he tells the truth. Even though it only matters to him. After all, what does he have to lose?

Life continues to happen to him, for better or for worse. The worst can and does happen without consequence, and Andrew can’t help but think it’s a shame that the truth remains so clear in his head when he can’t make anyone else see it.

He tries to scratch the truth out of himself. Maybe he can bleed the curse out.

(He can’t.)

The rules of the universe stay the same. Of course, he can’t change them. The world doesn’t believe him either. Robert didn’t just curse his credibility; he took Andrew’s magic, too.

Andrew wishes he could squeeze the magic out of Robert. Maybe that would be payback enough. Probably not.

( _It was just childhood spite_ , the rational part of Andrew argues. He sees little point in rationality, though, so it goes largely ignored in favour of blind hatred.)

(Besides, he will likely never run into Robert again. If he does, it will be the last time, and Andrew doesn’t care how the outcome would be achieved, just that it is.)

Facts stay fact, though. That’s a rule of the universe that can’t be meddled with. So when a Higgins starts calling him Aaron (and, of course, doesn’t believe Andrew when he says “That’s not my name.”), there is no way to hide from the fact that he has a twin brother, and beyond that a family that he’d never realised. There were no words that could change it once the truth had been uncovered.

Andrew almost expects the truth to be a relief, but it’s not. Tilda, his mother, is worse than Cass, worse than any of the foster parents he’s had to endure, and Aaron isn’t much better.

“Do you need protecting?” He asks Aaron, because there’s no way a question can be a lie.

“What? No,” Aaron says, though his hand rises to cover a tell tale bruise on his upper arm. It’s almost comical, being the one to look at this face and meet it with immediate disbelief.

“I’ll protect you from her,” Andrew says, even though it’s pointless, because Aaron won’t believe him. Not in any universe. Aaron scoffs but agrees to Andrew’s terms.

Even if it’s only because he doesn’t believe Andrew, it’s permission. It’s not Andrew’s fault that Aaron didn’t believe him. Andrew says as much when Aaron finds out about Tilda’s demise, for all that it matters.

It never matters.

Nicholas Hemmick tries to like Andrew, but he easily believes that he’s a liar, and worse, that he lies for no real reason. Their relationship itself may as well be cursed from the outset.

(Andrew knows people shouldn’t be blamed for not believing him, but if the world is predisposed to dislike him, he doesn’t feel any guilt for hating it back.)

“I didn’t mean to hurt them so badly,” Andrew lies, a rare smile on his face, and he’s sent to juvie. Choosing to lie feels fine. Juvie is no worse than the rest of his so-called homes.

“I don’t care about exy,” Andrew tells Aaron and Nicky, and later, Kevin, and later still, Wymack. For his efforts, he’s offered a spot at Edgar Allen University and then Palmetto State University. He doesn’t think he could convince anywhere else that he’d actually like to attend.

“You will bite off more than you can chew if you try to drag us into it,” Andrew tells Wymack. He’s not sure if it’s intended as an ineffective deterrent or a twisted persuasion, but still he, Aaron, and Nicky sign to play for the Palmetto State Foxes.

It changes nothing.

Kevin, same as Andrew’s useless family, doesn’t believe him but manages to figure out it’s safer by his side than against him. It’s something, at least. It’s a little bit interesting. It’s a reason.

But then there’s Neil. Neil who uses deceit as a shield, and bends and bends and bends the truth until it breaks, and who’s a bigger liar than even his curse can make Andrew out to be. He might be the most powerful magician Andrew’s ever met - Andrew doesn’t know what colour his eyes are, what length his hair is, the shape of his nose; just that it’s all unremarkable. The twisted perception absolutely reeks of magic. Andrew doesn’t trust him, but he wants to figure him out.

Neil is an enigma even outside of the scope of his magical glamour. He so clearly wants to stay under the radar, something he admits to Neil in an almost-honest admission, and yet calls attention to himself at every turn. Even his slippery features won’t hide him from Riko Moriyama’s money and influence.

Andrew doesn’t need to tell Neil that. Instead, he tells Neil that he might actually be interesting after all. Neil looks confused, but raises his eyebrows and asks, “To Kevin?”

Andrew doesn’t answer that.

He offers to stand between Neil and Riko, but Neil doesn’t believe anything will save him. That might not even be because of Andrew’s curse. Andrew doesn’t blame him at all. Neil agrees anyway, even though he grimaces like his tie to Andrew is a noose around his neck.

Then something changes, and Andrew almost doesn’t notice it. Neil interprets Andrew’s silence. It’s as close to honesty as Andrew can offer, and the fact that Neil understands it is somehow intoxicating. Neil gives him truths and asks for his in return. Neil, at least, doesn’t act like he thinks Andrew is lying, and Andrew feels- he wants more of this fake acceptance.

He doesn’t want to want it. It’s not real. Neil isn’t real.

His perception is skewed from psychoactive drugs, and probably denial, too. It’s safe for as long as Andrew reminds himself that Neil isn’t a real person. He’s a character invented by a boy who shouldn’t exist.

(It doesn’t matter that it feels real. Andrew is a liar and Neil is a lie; the math is simple enough to deduce.)

Neil doesn’t need to hear the truth from Andrew to know his truths. He knows about Drake without Andrew even telling him. Andrew doesn’t have time to figure out what that means before he agrees to leave Kevin in Neil’s care, and he’s at Easthaven.

It feels like a regression, in a way; going back to a place where no one believes him and no one cares to even try. That’s more like jabbing at a wound that had only barely started to heal than anything Proust could attempt.

But the drugs are gone and Easthaven is behind him. The world is grey and flat and offers him no more than it had before. There’s no point, still; the world isn’t designed for people like him.

He goes to the roof to ascertain that he can still feel. Fear flows dully through his veins.

Neil comes up and tells Andrew the truth. Andrew thinks he might hate Neil. Then he tells Neil something true, and Neil says, “Okay.” Andrew turns to look at him, and there’s something that looks a lot like beliefin his eyes.

Andrew doesn’t trust in a lot of things himself, but he trusts his own senses - at least now, unmedicated, he can trust them - but still he’s sure for half a second that his eyes are deceiving him somehow. Neil doesn’t flinch under Andrew’s searching gaze.

Something in Andrew ignites and the world is aflame.

“I hate you,” he says and flicks his cigarette off the side of the roof as though he can extinguish the flames that easily. “You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.”

It’s not disbelief on Neil’s face when he says, “I’m not a hallucination.”

“You are a pipe dream,” Andrew replies, and Neil understands. He doesn’t understand all of it, but then Andrew doesn’t tell him everything. Neil’s playing a losing game and doing better than anyone should be.

He doesn’t understand how or why Neil believes him - though he suspects it’s to do with Neil’s lies and magic rather than Andrew himself - but the belief is a better high than anything Andrew’s tried before.

Andrew throws Neil’s keys off the roof to get Neil to leave, but he won’t let Andrew forget him for a second.

Neil’s broken, in character and in body - Andrew doesn’t think about what it means that the thought of peeling Riko’s skin from his bones brings him close to happiness - and yet he’s the only one who can see the truth of Andrew. It’s not a simple matter of belief. Neil sifts through the meaningless layers Andrew coats his speech in and discovers the underlying truth, and never once thinks Andrew a liar. Andrew doesn’t know if that’s in spite of the brokenness or regardless.

The thoughts lead to an uncomfortable realisation, and it happens quickly. His feelings are following an unkempt path to the heart Andrew had sworn he’d buried. He feels cold all over with the realisation, but he doesn’t go inside.

Something about feeling, as horrible and unwanted as it is, still feels too good to pass up.

And once he’s discovered the truth, he doesn’t bury it. He can’t. The world does that for him so he’s never had any practice and keeps on spinning. Time passes and Andrew’s truths change nothing.

“You hate me, remember?” Neil asks, equal parts confused and flippant.

“Every inch of you,” Andrew says, and the belief is too intoxicating to pass up, so he tells Neil more than he should. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.”

“You like me,” Neil says, which doesn’t disregard any of the truth that Andrew gives him.

“I hate you,” Andrew repeats anyway.

Neil looks as sick as Andrew feels, all over again. Neil’s expressions fall through a rollercoaster, but never does he disbelieve Andrew. Worse than that, he seems to be adding their interactions together to produce the inevitable conclusion - that it’s truth. Even though he seems shaken to the core, he still believes Andrew.

Andrew almost can’t breathe. He’s so, so glad Neil doesn’t speak until he’s caught his breath again.

“I know better,” he says, and he knows it’s a lie.

It doesn’t put Neil off. Andrew thought Neil had given Andrew more than his fair share of surprises, but they still keep coming. He comes back again and again, jabbing at Andrew’s very core with fingertips made of sparks, and accepting every truth he’s given. Slowly, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, he starts to figure Andrew out. The thrill of it is fear or excitement. Andrew doesn’t try to decide which one it is.

(Andrew tries to convince himself that nothing’s changed. Still no one else believes him. The world is still grey and lifeless and it has nowhere to fit a boy his exact shape.)

(But there’s Neil. _It’s nothing_ , he tells himself. _He’s nothing_.)

(He can’t deny that Neil is different.)

Neil is broken. Andrew can’t argue against that, and Neil doesn’t. But instead of letting himself fall apart, instead of running far from Palmetto in the way Abram only knows how, Neil calls him. Neil needs Andrew to hold him together, and he calls Andrew _home_.

Something in Andrew’s heart clenches. _Don’t do this to yourself,_ he wants to say. “Don’t look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.” They won’t fix each other. They’re broken in ways that will never become smooth edges.

“I’m tired of being nothing,” Neil says, and his voice is shattered.

He’s nothing. He’s something. He’s everything, right now, in broken pieces that Neil is struggling to hold together.

Andrew tells him he’s nothing, because it’s partway to the truth, and says he hates him, because that’s the whole truth.

But Neil keeps talking, keeps setting off fireworks in the empty space of Andrew’s chest, and he can’t hold himself back. He kisses him. He presses his lips to Neils as hard as he can, sure he’s feeling _this_ , as if the mysteries of Neil Abram Josten could be transferred that way, as if it could stop anything.

Neil remembers not to touch him, and Andrew comes back to himself suddenly. _Not now_ , he thinks over the ragged sound of Neil’s breathing, and he pries himself away from Neil’s clinging hands.

Neil still doesn’t leave. He keeps talking, saying ridiculous, addictive things.

Andrew says, “I won’t be like them. I won’t let you let me be,” and it doesn’t make sense. The sentence structure is confusing, overlapping, but then his brain is made of static.

Neil stares at Andrew like he knows exactly what he means but he’s confused anyway. Something in his eyes is totally unguarded and warm. Andrew refuses to get lost in it. “The next time one of them says you’re soulless I might have to fight them.”

Andrew is a wildfire.

And Neil comes back. He becomes consistent, somehow, and Andrew almost believes in Neil. He’s still a lie, and he might always be, but Andrew can ignore that, because he’s also made of kisses and trust, and the fire in his veins sings _Neil, Neil, Neil._

Andrew doesn’t remember what life was like before this.

(Empty.)

Then Neil asks Andrew to release his hold, and Andrew can’t tell him no. “Amazing,” Neil calls him, and he can’t look at Neil at all, because the fire is too bright.

Neil asks Andrew to free him, then he doesn’t come back. The only person who believes Andrew is gone, and with him goes the part of Andrew that only Neil knows. It’s unfair in a way that aches. It’s the shock of icy water: everything’s immediately darker, dampened.

Andrew feels more powerless than he already knows he is. “He didn’t go by choice,” he insists to Wymack, but Wymack shakes his head. _He’s a runner_. Of course Wymack doesn’t believe him.

Wymack believes the voice on the phone, though, and they go to Baltimore, and Neil comes back.

(In pieces. Whole.)

Andrew remembers what it is to breathe.

Neil offers him _always_ and _everything_ but Andrew won’t give himself up so quickly. Andrew can’t trust this.

(Neil is a lie.)

The warning call gets quieter every day.

But Andrew can let it happen. Even if it’s a pipe dream, even if affection is finite, even if Neil is a lie and will slip through Andrew’s fingers as soon as he tries to hold on, it’s okay for now.

Neil is striving for permanence, though, and with every tender flame he tries to brand himself onto Andrew.

Andrew almost succeeds at keeping Neil a hair’s breadth away from too close. Then Nicky asks Neil, “You believe him?” It’s a comment thrown away on a laugh, because they all know that Andrew is a liar.

Neil just looks blankly at Nicky, failing to see the humour. “He’s never lied to me,” Neil says, and it’s the truth. “Andrew doesn’t lie,” Neil says, more insistent at the disbelief in the other Foxes’ eyes, and that’s the Truth.

Andrew looks at Neil, who’s pulling the breath straight from his lungs. Andrew isn’t seven anymore. He knows what it feels like when someone rewrites the universe, and there’s no doubt that Neil - who has blue eyes, too-long hair, a straight nose, and who’s trying to make himself into a true thing - has just rewritten the world for Andrew.

Nicky nods slowly, finally seeing the truth, looking as though a light bulb has just gone off in his eyes. “I… can’t argue with that,” he says, sounding mystified.

Neil nods back, approving, then turns to Andrew with the smallest hint of a smile. He doesn’t seem to realise that he’s rewound the fabric of the universe; he’s just looking at Andrew because Andrew’s looking at him. “You are unbelievable,” Andrew says when words return to him. “I hate you.”

“I believe you,” Neil says.

Andrew would burn the world to ash for this.

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr!](http://reneewvlkers.tumblr.com/)


End file.
